We Sing the Holy
by Cy.ra.no.Lee
Summary: It was bad, all the time. Every single day. Then one day, Gaara was saved. Supernatural! themes
1. Runner

AN: This is a bit different from most stories, and if you have a problem with anything in the warnings please vacate.

Some _Supernatural!_ themes in here.

 _ **Warnings:**_ Volatile Language, Child Abuse, Angst

* * *

He ran.

For the first time in his life, he _ran._

He had no idea where he was going, or what he was going to do, but he ran. His head didn't turn back; his eyes didn't search any other routes than the one's ahead. His feet had never been used for anything so productive; his hands never to lift him to his freedom before. Birds scattered in the setting sun, and out of a little garden he ran into the street.

Cars honked; he didn't stop. Across the street, down a few blocks, through an alley. The ghetto; he had seen and wished sometimes that he lived there. He wanted to be closer to something; more connected, like he had seen many of them act. He wished for it, but he didn't stop. His breaths came out in huffs, and the little, well kept shops began closing themselves.

He breathed in and out, and into another, well hidden alley he darted. There was a door, and he slid through it. He stopped. Eyes of hazel and dark mocha turned up to look. His lone sea foam green stopped and stared and were frozen. It seemed all merriment had been sucked from this place upon his arrival.

He was still breathing hard, and that must have been the only sound that was going on in there. He twitched, and his eyes came around to the stage. The singer there was staring at him too, but he couldn't discern whether it was in vehemence or admiration. It seemed mixed.

He looked like white trash to all the mocha colored faces. Ugly. He wore mesh, a torn shirt, chained trip pants, and big black boots that were stained with dark, dry blood that looked like dirt from so far away. His hair was a dark scarlet color, and his eyes were rimmed in black. He looked around at it all; it wasn't a bad place. In his words it was like magic.

The place looked like it had been grown from the ground up. There were ivy vines up the wall, the ground was a fresh dirt color, and the tables looked like they had been grown with the greatest care. The bar and stage were a matching, glassy green, with ceramic flowers imprinted in them. It amazed him.

"Ain't no damn kids allowed in here," someone muttered.

"You better get outta here, little boy," someone called over to him. Muttering started up about him, and then switched to personal affairs and whatnot. The music started up again, as if he were simply a bit of a strong breeze.

"Look, now you better go'on and get outta here," a seemingly young woman came up and began to usher him out. He yanked himself out of her grasp.

"I'm going," he muttered gruffly, turning on his heel.

"Now hol' on a minute," a man in his 60's or 70's said as he came out from behind the counter. He grabbed the boy by the chin and turned his head this way and that. The high school kid yanked himself from the man's hands and stepped away. His eyes spit fire at the man.

"If you don't hold still, you better," the man said, grabbing his face again. Green eyes glared down at him, but he didn't move.

"Where you get this mug from, boy," the man asked. The adolescent narrowed his eyes angrily. The man was not as tall as the boy, but he was close. If he could plant him on his back he would. The boy snarled and flashed his teeth at the man. The bartender only chuckled.

"Listen, that may work on some other folk, but not me. Now, you gonna tell me what happened, or am I gonna have to guess myself?"

"What does it look like he was doing, Dad," the young woman asked, "He got into a fight. You should put 'm out if you ask me."

"Well, good thing I didn't _ask you_ ," the man said at her, "Now, go back to doin' what I _asked_ you to do, Marsha."

The woman rolled her eyes and the towel in her hands and walked away. The boy watched her for a second before turning to the man again. He had let go of his face. The boy didn't know why he hadn't left yet. He had done it before; turned on his heel and walked away. Maybe he could now.

"I know you wan't fighting nobody. Your knuckles ain't busted up like a fighter's. So, you gone tell me?"

Usually, the boy would use his pupil-less teal eyes to stare down someone who challenged him. He would do it to anyone and everyone without qualm, then turn and walk away. But this man, who looked like he could be the boy's grandfather, and who had a soft sort of disposition in his demands, made him look away. He shrugged his shoulders. The man crossed his arms.

"Mm-hm," the man hummed skeptically, "Fine, then. Go and get a broom and start sweeping."

The boy looked questioningly at him. The man raised his eyebrow before nodding his head in the direction of the broom.

"You can't stay here if you ain't got work to do, kid. Go'on and get the broom."

The boy, who was oddly tall and defiant, shifted awkwardly for a moment. He could leave. His eyes swept the fae paradise one more time before he turned and picked up the broom. He swept about; getting swept up in the music once or twice and stopping and then getting caught once or twice. He sung lowly to the music when he recognized the words, and fell silent when it seemed as though someone was listening to him. As he swept past the bar, the woman who had previously been on stage stared at him with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. The stony boy guessed she was good at that.

"Don't stop for me," she said, taking another drink from her tall glass. The boy hadn't stopped for her. He hadn't stopped yet. He had only given her a quick glance and silenced his quiet singing. She set her glass down and folded her legs kindly, still staring at him.

"Do you want to be a girl or something," she asked, and though he didn't stop, his grip on the broom tightened viciously. Some of the bystanders who'd overheard her snickered.

"I mean, you wear all that make-up and you dyed your hair such a pretty color-"

"Marceline!"

The boys foot slammed into her stool, and her back hit the table behind her. It was the only thing keeping her from meeting the floor. He boy's hands clenched around the broom, and he stood very, very still.

"I was born this way," he said, an angry calm in his words. A shiver ran up the spine of the woman as she righted herself.

"Marceline, what the hell you doin', patronizing that boy," the old man leaned over the counter and shouted angrily at her.

"Ay, I ain't the one lashing out at people! He could'a broke my damn neck," she said, shouting at both the man and the boy at the same time.

"You shouldn't be goading a kid. You're an adult, ain't yah? You drunk, ain't cha? Go home, Marc."

"Dad-"

"Marc, go home, before I make Marsha _take_ you home," he said, pointing a threatening finger at her. The mocha skinned woman grabbed her belongings angrily and shoved past the boy with the red hair. Some childish part of him wanted to stick his tongue out at her back.

"And you, son, got no right kicking people's chair in here, you got me?"

The red head looked at him like it pained him to admit his faults, but eventually he nodded. The man nodded back to him and went to get the official roster for the evening.

"Damn," the old man said. He hadn't anyone to replace her act. She was due to sing two more songs, and if he tried to call in Angie... well, she'd never show up, would she?

" _Now the skies could fall,"_ he heard soft singing beneath the main performer. He turned his head and watched the boy sweep and sing to himself.

" _See, nothing even matters. See, nothing even matters at all_ ," he continued, oblivious to the man who was watching and listening and the idea he was giving him.

"Ay, Red!"

His head popped up and his mint eyes looked disgruntled at the caller. The elder man grinned at him from behind the counter. He gestured for him to take a seat. The boy shifted awkwardly before doing as he was told.

"You got one helluva voice on you."

The boy's hands shifted nervously over the broom. He racked his brain for a moment before saying, "I'm sorry."

"What? No, boy, I ain't telling you to stop!"

The boy ran a hand through his red hair in confusion. He bit the inside of his lip as confusion passed through his eyes.

"I'm asking you to get up _there_ and sing," he said. The boy flinched and took a step back. His version of a no.

"Aw, come on boy," he said, "You done run out my best singer, and _don't_ pretend you didn't do what I saw you do, either."

He turned and hung his head a little. He shook his head once more. The man said, "Think of this as a way to repay me for driving away my singer."

The boy paused as if in contemplation before grunting in defeat. The man beamed and said, "Good! Two more songs, and you're on!"

Something like nerves might have racked themselves up in him, but the boy's level of stoicism made him immune to things like that. He simply swept until he heard the man call, "Red, you're up next."

There was a delay between himself and the woman before him. It was enough for people to murmur in confusion about where Marc was. By the time the boy made it on the stage, the place was restless. He could hear questions about why he would even be up there, about his capabilities. He didn't really care about any of that. He owed the man a favor, and he would repay it. Although, he didn't know what to sing. His mother's voice flashed into his mind.

He wanted to hit something, and make it bleed. He wanted something, _someone_ to hurt as much as he did when he remembered. And the lyrics started playing in his head.

He sung, _"Time will bring the real end our trial."_

One of the band played right behind him, soft and low to accommodate his low, reverberating voice. Soon, the others joined the bandwagon. The club was enchanted, and silent. He knew he must have posed a very strange juxtaposition. Stark white kid, strange, bloody clothes, sitting in a fae nest.

 _"Your face will be the reason I smile. But I will not see what I cannot have forever. I'll always love you,"_ he sang sweetly. His eyes closed and with them the image of a sad Caribbean sea. It was just him; his voice carrying strongly to every corner of the room.

 _"I had to leave. I had to leave. I had to leave. I had to leave~... I came wrong. You were right. Transformed your love, into lies."_

He probably didn't even realized that he was swaying and nodding his head to the beat. When the jazz band stopped playing, he breathed out as if he hadn't in a long time. His face relaxed back into its blank state, he put the microphone back, and walked back off the stage. He picked up his broom as if there wasn't a simple, steady applause for him and continued his sweeping.

"That was better than I expected," the man said as he strode up to the red head. The boy paused and nodded his thanks. He looked the boy up and down, and asked, "What's your name, kid?"

"Gaara."

The man wrinkled his nose and gave the boy another once over. He said, "Really? No, _obviously_. How 'bout we just stick with Red? Its easier as a stage name too..."

Gaara's hand shifted though his hair again. The man led him back to the bar and began shining one of his glasses with the rag over his shoulder.

"If you think I'm gonna let a robin like you get away without singing another song, you gone crazy," the older man replied, placing the glass down and staring at Gaara. The red head looked up at the stage and seemed to fall into a haze. The man was pleased with himself. Gaara seemed to like it here, and if he could keep him away from whatever was tormenting him, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

"My name's Tyrese," he said, breaking the tall boy out of his reverie. Mint eyes blinked in acknowledgment.

"Do I have to be here everyday," the boy asked, and the man was sure that there was a bit of hope in his voice.

"No. I'll set up a work schedule for you, and you can come back tomorra 'n get it. We're open everyday, save Sunday. Sundays are for church, understand?"

Gaara nodded, but did not tell the man that he had never been to church in his entire life. It wasn't the kind of thing his parents were into doing. His mother hadn't been a religious person before she left, and his father still wasn't now. He waited a while before he began sweeping again. As the jazz band members came down the stage, one with a cello paused by to greet him.

"That's a nice voice you got. I ain't never seen nobody wipe the smug off their faces so fast," the man said, laughing. Gaara blinked at him, wondering what was funny.

"My name's Emile, by the way," he said, tucking his bow under his arm and holding out his arm. It was then that Gaara took notice of the cello case in his other arm. He stared at it until the man noticed, and laughed again.

"Ah, you like my cello, do ya," the man asked. Gaara's eye flicked to his, and he nodded.

"I took lessons," he replied. Emile smiled at his initiation of the boy into conversation. He shook his head.

"In a proper school? No, no, no, no. That ain't no way to learn how to play the cello. You gotta learn the soul. Then you can play the cello right. I can teach you, if you'd like."

Mint eyes finally lifted from the cello case to hazel. He blinked before giving an almost enthusiastic nod. As enthusiastic as Gaara could be, anyway. Emile smiled again and said, "You got a pen? I'll write down my number-"

"I am going to return tomorrow."

Emile eyed Gaara strangely before nodding and turning, "Well, I best be going. See ya round-"

"Gaara."

"Gaara. See ya."

* * *

I'm trying something new, with very annoyingly short chapters.

I hope its alright, even with all the OC's.


	2. Fighter

Forgot to mention- none of the songs featured here belong to me.

This story lies somewhere between the Narutoverse and reality. I will try to articulate that.

* * *

Being alone didn't have its benefits. No matter what people thought, it really bothered Gaara. Especially on days like this one. They were slowly crawling out of winter now, and it was so warm out today that he didn't wonder why that kid with the bowl cut was shouting about Springtime. It was his kind of day. Well, Gaara liked to believe that it was his kind of day.

It really would have been if he were a different person. Or if he had friends. Gaara had been new to this school two years ago. He had come from another high school which he didn't really think too much of. Because of its low standards all you had to do was give some bastard cash and they would take you in like that. Gaara had called out some very rude things during the last meeting he had ever had in that school. And he still didn't have friends. It wasn't exactly his fault.

It was his face's fault.

Gaara had been called any number of things in his lifetime. Freak. Monster. Demon. Evil. Even as a child, these names had come from other children and even their _parents._ Gaara's mother had raved and ranted about it, saying that they should have all been kinder to him, seeing as they all had children. What if one of their children had and accident and looked freakish? Not that there was anything wrong with her baby.

His birthmarks just made it look like had been born with black holes for eyes. He also had incredibly small pupils, and no eyebrows. There was nothing wrong with her baby, _damnit,_ and if she had to prove it to those stupid people with her fists she would. But no, you shouldn't take after me, Gaa-chan. Mommy's just mad.

Gaara had never listened to that bit of advice.

He had heard people whisper about him being a homicidal maniac. Even the thugs wouldn't come near Gaara, though it didn't mean that a few here or there hadn't tried before.

His track record wouldn't disagree with his overall ' _thug'_ appearance. That wasn't exactly his fault either. Gaara snorted angrily to himself, tenderly touching his side and hoping against hope that nothing happened today. As he thought that, he twitched and tilted his head. There was the short uttering of laughter and fast footsteps coming from the door not twenty feet from where he sat.

"Naruto!"

"C'mon! We aren't gonna get caught!"

"Stop shouting, dobe."

"Shut up- Ora? The door's already unlocked," the loud voice said, though much quieter this time. The door creaked open slowly, while the girl's voice whispered frantically.

"Someone's already up here, let's go-..!"

Gaara turned his head, peeved and slightly interested at the interruption. He still scowled, agitated at the pain in his side. A blonde boy stepped out, looking forward, and not quite seeing the red head glaring at him.

"See guys, no-"

The smile on the blonde's face slid off as he turned his head, catching the deadly look on Gaara's face. The red head could see the shivers crawl up his spine and the hair on his head rise.

It irked him more.

"Whoever is up here can't be that scary, dobe," the other male voice said, stepping out and following the blonde's line of sight. Gaara couldn't say he was really acquainted with the raven. He also passed him in the hallway several times a day, and had trigonometry with the bastard.

His name was Uchiha, Sasuke and Gaara had tried to glare at him on several different occasions. To freak him out, Gaara stared at the back of his head every trigonometry class. He could tell that he got to him because the Uchiha would glare at him at the end of class and race out. Uchiha was the closest thing to an adversary he could get. At some point, he had wished that someone would approach him and say something; _anything_. It would be so much better than being lonely and feared.

"I don't care! I borrowed the key for this place fair and square, and I'm not leaving," the blonde stomped his foot, petulantly igniting his anger. Gaara turned his head away angrily. He heard the blonde's friends sigh in relief and grit his teeth. _These_ were the kind of people that got on Gaara's nerves, and made him disagreeable. He _didn't_ want them to sigh in relief when he moved away. As he was, he wanted company…

Waves of burning anger seeped from him, and he couldn't even focus on becoming mindless. Sakura shivered.

"I think he's mad," Sakura whispered, looking over her shoulder as Naruto finished off another rice ball. The look on his face had been euphoric since the first rice ball he had. His mother had made his lunch that day, and the rice balls had ramen flavored beef. How she did it, he didn't know. His mouth was in bliss. His eyes closed from the the pure goodness of it, and Sakura scowled.

"Naruto," she hissed as she hit his shoulder. He yelped and rubbed his arm. He turned around and looked at the red head who had a hand clenched forcefully around the chain-linked fence. His hand was so white, Naruto was sure he'd break the fence at any moment. He swallowed nervously. He looked pleadingly at Sasuke, who did not look up from his lunch. Naruto pouted and then scowled before grabbing his _last_ rice ball and standing.

"The things I do for you two," Naruto said, before stomping up to the red head, who was still clenching the chain-linked fence. Naruto's walk slowed with trepidation as the red head began to sit up. He dared not look back, however. He had come here, and he would do what he come to do.

"Ah, sumimasen," he trailed off as the boy in front of him turned his mint eyes on him. Fear froze up his bones. He'd seen the red head; heard of him. He'd always be walking around with bandages _somewhere_ on his body. The side of his face was bandaged up, from the corner of his lip to the corner of his eye. His lip was split, and his mint eyes had a lock on Naruto's face. Naruto had never been close enough to see that he had no pupils before. He had just assumed that those were rumors. Now that he had seen it, he was even more afraid.

What if the rumor about him being a murderer was true, too?

"Er," he stuttered, scratching the back of his head, "I know we invaded your space. I saw you didn't have a lunch, so I wanted to give you this as an apology... My mom made it. S' really goo-"

As fast as lightning, Gaara's fist shot out and connected with his face. As Naruto reeled in shock, his assailant moved past him and through the exit door.

Gaara couldn't believe himself. His heart was thudding in his chest; butterflies thundering in his stomach. That had been Uzumaki. Blonde haired, blue eyed Uzumaki. Who had weird whisker shaped scars on his face. Who had smiles almost as wide and bright as Rock, Lee's. Who stood 177 cm tall, had inexplicably tanned skin _everywhere_ , who was best friends with Uchiha, Sasuke and Haruno, Sakura.

Uzumaki, Naruto, who loved Ramen and milkshakes, and who Gaara was completely and totally in love with.

Who he had just _punched_ in the _face_. Gaara had lost his temper, really. He did it all of the time. He did it to whoever he felt like doing it to, whenever he felt like it. When Uzumaki had said _mom..._ It sounded ridiculous, but not to could blame the practically orphaned boy for feeling the way he did? It was practically unheard of for anyone to talk about a mother without insulting the kid in some way. He himself hadn't spoke about her since she had gone away.

Naruto had only stared at his rice ball for about five seconds before he charged after Gaara, anger in full swing. In those five seconds, all he could think about was the destruction that Gaara had unknowingly caused. That rice ball, which had been filled with meaty, ramen-flavored goodness, was now gone. He would now have to wait at _least_ a week for his mother to make him another lunch as beautiful as that one. And even then it would be after much persistence and about half of his allowance, which would be going to grocery shopping.

The blonde ignored the calls of his friends as he chased after the jerk. As soon as he caught sight of the red head walking quickly across the court yard, he screamed, _"OI!"_

He charged across the clearing, and as soon as he caught sight of pupil-less eyes, struck the other boy across the face. Gaara seemed to float back two steps away from Naruto, who followed closely. He attacked in rapid succession, anger making him almost animalistic. Gaara didn't dodge, but swayed around the fists and legs that tried to hit him. As one sailed past his face, he grabbed the blonde's arm, and jabbed him in his stomach. Really, he didn't tolerate being hit in the face, especially on the already bruised side. His chances with the blonde in front of him had already exploded in a cloud of smoke anyway.

Naruto tripped as Gaara shoved the arm he was holding away from him harshly. The assailant was on top of Naruto as soon as he hit the floor, punching him in the face as though he had nothing better to do with his time. Naruto grabbed his captor's wrists to drag him forward. Gaara's eyes widened and his stomach fluttered before he felt a terrible pain in his skull.

Naruto had just _headbutted_ him. Gaara's head snapped back and forward again. He tried to raise his hands to cover his face, but realized Naruto still had a hold on him. Naruto headbutted him again and he felt the skin on his forehead break. Naruto let go of his hands and slid from under him as his back hit the floor. His hands covered his face as he used his agony to fuel his oncoming anger. He heard Naruto get to his feet but the ringing in his ears didn't allow him to hear the blonde's next words.

"Mother fucker! What kind of person wastes good food! The last rice ball! Have you lost your mind," Naruto continued to shout in the clearing as people began to gather. He wiped is face as he saw Iruka and a few other teachers scurry up to the two of them. He was too distracted to notice Gaara had gotten to his feet. The red head punched him across his face one more time before arms locked themselves around his torso and dragged him back.

"Aw, what the fuck," Naruto groaned loudly, holding his cheek.

"What happened here," he asked. Naruto flailed in his arms as he watched the red head struggle in some strange brunette's arms. The man behind Gaara was constantly letting out a stream of words. They seemed practiced, and Naruto wondered how often the man had said these words to Gaara. Looking around now, Naruto could see a group of people and teachers alike, including Kakashi and Gai. They were both known to hold back fighters, though Gai was more _enthusiastic_ about his job than Kakashi.

"Gaara," a blonde woman called as she broke through the crowd, huffing as though she'd just run a mile. Gaara's eyes didn't even flick to hers. His fury was all aimed at Naruto, who was just as ready to return to fighting as the other student.

"What happened to you!? Kankuro, what happened," she said, before turning and looking around. As soon as she laid eyes on Naruto, she paled.

"Calm down, dammit! Fuck, Dad's gonna be pissed when he finds out about your fighting again," Gaara's captor, Kankuro shouted at him. This made Gaara still in his grasp, and Kankuro tightened his grip in confusion. Silence reigned, save the heavy breathing. Before anyone else could get even a few sounds out of their mouths, Kankuro's body was up over Gaara's head. He planted on his back with a harsh thud and a groan. His assailant's mint eyes were wide and angry as they turned back up to train on Naruto. Suddenly, the blonde lost all of his fight. Gaara took one step before Kakashi and Gai were pushing through the crowd to grab him.

Another hand caught his bicep first. Gaara didn't look at the blonde woman who held him. Naruto feared he would hit her. She leaned in close to him and said into the deadly silence, "Mom wouldn't be happy with you right now."

Those were the magic words. The ferocity in Gaara's eyes disappeared, and he blinked slowly. He looked at the blonde woman holding him, and she snatched her hand away as if she had been burned. Gaara didn't move from his spot. Naruto thought he looked eerie with his wide eyes, and blood dripping down over his face.

"Principle's office, _now_ you two. We're going to figure out what's going on," Iruka admonished, dragging Naruto away by his ear. Gaara followed without hesitation, flanked by Kakashi and Gai. He looked back once to see Temari taking care of Kankuro, but thought nothing of it.

 _ **+)holy(+**_

"...and all the bastard said was 'yes!' As if he was proud of fucking starting a fight," Naruto said.

"He probably was, knowing that freak. Out for blood," TenTen quipped. Naruto frowned at her and shivered. He had not really _meant_ that, he just wanted someone to be on his side about something. Sabaku didn't seem like the type to _like_ instigating things. He didn't seem like the type to like anything, actually. He did not speak his thoughts to his friends. Instead he sighed.

"What did you get, Naruto," Kiba asked excitedly. He seemed like a trouble maker, but since he was on the football team, he didn't. He simply indulged himself in other people's trouble. Mostly Naruto's.

"I got two days out of school. He got ten."

Kiba whistled, "You must have spun a _tale_ to the old man!

"It wasn't a _tale!_ That was what happened!"

"That's a lie," Neji opined, "You most certainly did not _'approach your fellow student innocently to ask why he would not accept your peace offering.'_ "

The group laughed as Neji raised his eyebrow at Naruto, who scowled and yanked a strand of his hair roughly. How he had gotten a study hall with all of his friends, was probably the doing of Sasuke and Neji, who had such high grades and good standing in the student council that they could practically ask for golden seats on the toilet bowls and still get them.

"I should jump the bastard after school," he muttered sullenly. Sasuke immediately turned his head, crooked smile on his face. And suddenly the wicked idea was formulated in his head. He could hear the stoic, silent boy apologizing to him now. _Yes,_ Uzumaki-sama, I didn't _know_ , Uzumaki-sama, I'm _sorry,_ Uzumaki-sama.

"Sasuke-"

"You had me at jump, dobe."

"Yosha!"

Lee frowned at his friends and said, "It can not be that serious, Naruto-kun! It is unfair for you to jump a fellow student after school!"

"Lee."

The round eyed boy swallowed, nervousness frittering up his spine like bugs. Naruto never used his name unless in a serious setting. He said, "I had to work for a month for my mom to make me that bento. That was my. _Last. Rice ball."_

"Alright, no need to get mad at the innocent geek," Kiba said, waving a hand in front of Naruto's darkening face. He scowled at his friend before turning away and changing the subject.

 _ **+)sing(+**_

"He left already, dobe," Sasuke groaned from their hiding spot an hour and a half after school had let out. Gaara had not shown, and the intelligent boy was sure he wasn't going to. Somehow, he had slipped passed them. Naruto didn't think that was possible. Gaara was 187 cm tall, had no eyebrows, and had bright red hair. Naruto would notice if he had slipped out the front gates. And there wasn't any other way to go, lest he had hopped over the back fence and got caught in thicket.

"He hasn't. We just have to wait a _little-"_

As he said it, the front doors opened. Said bright haired object of conversation promptly walked out. He wore a wife beater and his school slacks, and looked to be sweating. It was then that Naruto noticed the great purple bruise on his shoulder, and the older ones that dotted his visible skin. Naruto supposed he got into fights a _lot._ This would just be another one to tack on, he thought, although a bit hesitantly. He stood, but when he heard a car door slam, he pushed himself and Sasuke back. Hopefully, it wasn't the sound of an approaching parent.

No such luck, as a man came out of the parking lot, away from a great black Escalade. It clicked shut as the brunette man marched across the grounds towards Gaara. His face was more angular and lined than the younger man's, but they had the same set of shoulder, the same ears, nose, and the same height. Naruto assumed it was his father.

"What the fuck are you doing, fighting again? What did I tell you," the man shouted. Naruto would hate for that to be his dad. At least his father would wait for him to get home, have short, few words with him, and take away every privilege he was ever known to have. If Naruto's father ever publicly yelled at him, he didn't know how he'd cope. His breath caught as he watched Gaara's father grab him by his hair and yank harshly. Gaara didn't even raise his arms to protect himself. He did not try to get away. He simply looked up at his father with dead, cold eyes.

"Do you want to fight someone, you monster," the man said into his face, "Fight me, then!"

He punched his son in the stomach before throwing him to the ground. Gaara didn't make a sound until his father's foot connected to his rib cage. He then let out small grunting screams. Again and again he struck, and Naruto was paralyzed. He didn't know whether he should call out, call someone, or just attack the man himself. He felt sick.

"Are you fucking proud of yourself!? You're always fucking up everything, hurting others and ruining their lives! Your mother left because of you!"

Naruto bent over, feeling as though he was about to lose the rice balls he had so fond of. He felt Sasuke's presence and hand on his back, but he didn't think that would help.

"Get the fuck off me, you cunt," the man shouted at his own son, making Naruto look up. Gaara had caught his father's foot. In the next minute, Gaara was standing and the man was not. His arm was locked around his father's struggling leg. One foot was digging into his throat and the other ground down into the man's ankle.

"Don't," he said, as he dug his foot into his father's neck, "Don't talk about her! "

He brought his elbow down on his father's thigh. The man didn't even have passageway to scream. Gaara began hitting the same spot over an over, and muttered to himself under his breath. He waited beat on the same spot until his father shouted in agony, and he just let go of his father altogether. He grabbed at his rib cage, and Naruto began to stumble out from under the tree. Before he could even make it a quarter of the way to the injured student, Gaara took off, disappearing down the street.


	3. Healer

Updating a day early, since I won't be at home tomorrow.

 ** _Enjoy._**

* * *

It was hard to breathe.

He didn't tell Tyrese.

He simply stumbled in, holding his chest and knowing that a great bruise was forming there. He must look a sight different than the other day he had been in here- it was the first time Gaara was showing up in his school uniform. It was also the first time he had his arms bared, and that he had gotten into a fight at school. Although he had been _thinking_ about the coming of the questions, he had not been _prepared._

Tyrese was in his personal space in a matter of seconds, inspecting his arms and face. His head had started bleeding again when he hit the ground, even though the cut was not that deep. He looked a right mess, he suspected.

"I got into a fight at school," he said, as if to explain. That always explained everything. I went for a walk and I got into a fight. I wanted to buy some ice cream and I got into a fight. I blinked and I got into a fight. That was how he always answered. But it was different this time. Marsha came out from wherever she had been. She caused more of a fuss and began to usher them away to a door behind the bar. Gaara felt the stares of the patrons. He glanced at the pity in all of their eyes.

It was hard to breathe.

Gaara rubbed at his chest and felt it give a little. He gave a sharp intake of breath. Marsha batted his hands away from his chest. She gave him a hard look before hurrying away to find him some bandages. His mother used to look at him like that whenever he would get into fights in school, and he fidgeted with his injuries. Back when she was there, Gaara would never fight back. He would just take the beating the best way he knew how to. Sometimes, if he'd eaten and gotten a good night's sleep, he would come out of the fight unscathed. The teachers would all look at him sadly, and make the other students apologize for trying to hurt him.

Whenever he did get hurt, his father would call him a pansy. His mother would tell him to shut up and mind his own business. She'd tell him that it wasn't Gaara's fault and that she was proud that he wasn't fighting back. He wasn't a hooligan, and he didn't need his fists to be tough.

Tyrese was still fluttering about him. Marsha came to join and help. They goaded him to take off his wife beater, to start from the top, to tell him where he got all his bruises from. Tyrese speculated- said that the bruises around his wrists and mid-biceps couldn't have been from fighting, but from someone holding him down. He said that even if they were from fighting, which they couldn't have been, because the bruises were far too numerous, the boy _had_ to be getting into fights everyday if so, which he had told them he wasn't. So they _had_ to be from something- some _one_ else, who was giving Gaara bits of beatings that he didn't deserve.

Gaara felt a sharp pain as he breathed in slowly before his body relaxed far too quickly and he hit the ground. He could hear Marsha and Tyrese calling him, and someone else telling someone to call an ambulance. Breathe, breathe, _breath,_ they told him.

It was too hard.

 _ **+)sing(+**_

Naruto and Sasuke didn't come from behind the tree until they were completely sure that Gaara's father had gone. They began their walk home shoulder to shoulder, with no words passing between them. While Sasuke had lost all of his pallor, Naruto had turned a sickly green color. Had he not cherished his lunch so much he would have lost it. The churning thoughts in his mind had the contents of his stomach purling unhappily.

How long had Gaara been abused? Did this always happen at his home? How many of those bruises were from his father? How many more did he have, that Naruto couldn't see without him taking more off? How far had this gotten? Had his father ever- Naruto paused and doubled over as he felt his stomach seize. Just the mere thought of it made him want to lose everything. Why didn't the red head tell anyone?

Sasuke was beside him again, helping him stumble the rest of the way down the street to his house. Naruto had rightly expected Sasuke to abandon him on his doorstep, but the other student rung the door and stood by his side as he waited. When Naruto replayed the images of the day in his mind, he realized that-

"I'm in a shit load of trouble," he muttered, but all he could think was that it wasn't as bad as what had happened to Gaara. He shared a glance with Sasuke to see that he was thinking the same thing. Sasuke lived with his brother, Itachi. He was supposed to call or go straight home to check in with his elder. The elder Uchiha had a sense of paranoia about Sasuke ever since the last of their family had been massacred in one sitting.

Still, the trouble was nothing to either of them. Not when they had just realized child abuse. Naruto couldn't remember the steps he had learned in school about things like this. When you found out that something not so ripe was happening in a friends life at home, what did you do? Go to the police, go to your parents? But Naruto didn't even know the whole situation. And how would _anyone_ believe that the fellow student had gotten that beating from his parent when Naruto _himself_ had just been one of the people to hurt him?

The door opened and his mother's tired, angry face appeared. Naruto saw her eyes soften, so he guessed he must have still looked sick. She nodded her thanks to Sasuke before saying, "Go home."

He nodded in turn, but he said a worried, curious glance at Naruto. He seemed to be trying to decide what to do as well. Kushina looked between the two before grabbing his son's arm and dragging him inside. Naruto supposed he would just have to talk to Sasuke about it when he returned to school. He knew he couldn't devise a plan over the phone- he wasn't likely to get it back before the month was out. He gave Sasuke a short wave, which was returned, before his mother began to shout at him for getting into trouble.

He was old enough to _this,_ how was he going to get anywhere in life _that,_ he should have told first, _whatever._ It had been a long time since he'd heard these words, but he still knew them by heart. He'd been such a bad kid in middle school, what with Sasuke being gone. Ah, but that was another tale.

"Your father wants to talk to you," Kushina finally said, after giving up with her persistent berating. Naruto swallowed. He already knew he was grounded. Now was the time that he had to contemplate telling his father about what he had seen. His father was a police officer, and would be on top of it in a heartbeat. Naruto took a calming breath. Knowing things like these gave Naruto peace of mind sometimes.

"Naruto," his father said as soon as he walked through the threshold of the living room. Naruto shifted anxiously. He knew he was grounded, but it never did prepare him for it. He took his phone and Ramsun tablet out of his back pack and put them on the couch next to his father, without him saying another word. Minato looked down at them thoughtfully, before turning back to his son.

"I know your mom already gave you the talk," he said. He waited for Naruto to nod before he sighed, "I'm so... _disappointed_ Naruto. I thought you'd learned your lesson already."

Naruto hated this point. Nothing, not a _thing_ could make him feel worse than his father's judgment; than the look in his eyes that said that he really meant those words. The boy always felt the need to explain to his father when he looked like this, but knew there would never be enough words to justify himself. So he accepted and wallowed in the shame, until he apologized to his parents, and forgot all about it.

"Dad, I-"

"No, Naruto. I want no words from you. Go to your room. I already took your games and your laptop."

"Okay, but Dad, I really-"

" _Naruto."_

The boy turned on his heel and marched up to his room. He did as his father asked whenever he sounded like that. However, he told himself not to forget about the abused red head. He was going to tell _someone_ about what he had seen.

He entered his room, then promptly proceeded to forget about what he had seen.

 _ **+)holy(+**_

Gaara was in a hospital.

How did he know?

There was something pinching the skin of his his inner left and right arms. He smelled _nothing_ save for the smell of the baked biscuits that they served to every over night patient here. He was staring up at a blank white, tiled ceiling. His pillows at home were _not_ this comfortable. The nightmares in them made them lumpy.

Gaara had not been in a hospital in a long time. Not since the day when his mother- He started to get up, and then let out a painful grunt. A soft, feminine hand pushed him back down. He looked up to see Marsha and Tyrese by his side. He looked at her hand for a moment before wondering why she had not removed it yet. He had beaten people to unconsciousness for touching him in such a friendly way, though never females.

And yet...

He was still trying to decide whether he hated her touch, or wished he had someone to comfort him like this all of the time. Temari tried, but her eyes were like his father's and he hated her for it. He blinked slowly at her again, because whatever was in his system for pain, was also making him lethargic.

His ribs were broken. Usually, he would leave Gaara with bruises and deep cuts. Broken bones were for occasions when he _really_ pissed off his father or when he came home at a very inopportune _, drunken_ moment. Though, thinking about it now, they were never anywhere near his main organs. Which means that this was one of those super special occasions. Maybe today was a special occasion. He wracked his brain for the date.

"I'm going to get the doctor," he heard Tyrese murmur. It was dark out now. He guessed that the two of them had told the doctor or whoever it was that they were his family. He couldn't care less. He just wanted to leave. He'd enough of hospitals and shared rooms and footsteps back and forth passed his door every second of every minute that he was awake. When the door closed, Marsha took her hand from the boy's arm.

"Who did this to you," she asked softly, rubbing his cheek. He pulled his head away from her to look out of the window. Because of all the light pollution of the city, he couldn't even see the stars. He hated it here. He heard Marsha sigh as he felt her take her hand away. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her wallet, but Gaara refused to turn.

"I've got children, too, you know," she said, opening her wallet and taking out her pictures of them, "I love them so much."

Gaara shifted his head. His mother used to talk about him and Kankuro and Temari whenever they went out together. She would gloat about her beautiful little babies. The loves of her life, she'd say. They'd grow up to make her proud and rich, she'd joked. Then they would take care of her.

Gaara didn't know what he wanted to be since she'd left.

"These are my boys- Demetrius and Mauricio. And this is my little girl. Her name's Teresa. I named her after my dad. She looks just like him. She's got the toothiest little grin," she said, sighing contentedly as she looked at them all and showed them off to Gaara.

"I know that if any of my kids got bullied in school, I'd be down there in a second," she continued, hoping to get something out of the boy. He turned to look out of the window. His mother had always been there for him when he used to get bullied.

"And if they were fighting," Marsha continued, "well, I'd tear them a new one. Fighting isn't a way to solve someone's problems."

Gaara snorted. Marsha leaned forward, and with an unsure hand, began carding her fingers through Gaara's hair. She softly said, "I know school rules, Gaara. I know someone was supposed to pick you up today. Instead you show up at the bar looking worse for wear... Just tell me what happened."

Gaara couldn't fight her. Not when she was doing the thing his mother used to do. Not when her voice sounded like his mother's used to. Not when she had three of her own little children, like his mum. Not when she knew how to take care of them and him, like she used to. His eyes felt heavy, but he didn't let them close all the way.

"My father came to retrieve me after school. We fought," he said, and the hand in his hair paused for only a fraction of a second. He had lost the game of self-preservation, lost the game of wits to the simple gesture of the hand in his hair.

"Does he always get angry at you when you fight," Marsha asked, voice straining to be calm. He could hear the strain- her hand continued to card with constant gentleness. He couldn't resist.

"Yes."

The door clicked open, and Tyrese was followed in by the doctor. Her name-tag read Dr. Tsunade Senju. She smiled down at Gaara who was still pushing his head into Marsha's hand without shame. He was starved of affection, Marsha thought. He should have it now.

"How do you feel," Dr. Senju asked. Gaara looked up at her and said, "As though I have been kicked repeatedly in the chest."

Dr. Senju nodded grimly and said, "You gave us quite a scare there. Not only that, but you seemed to have pushed yourself post-injury. Had I seen to you even a half an hour later and you would have been toast, kid."

She talked and checked his vitals and drip bag at the same time. She said, "You might not be hungry, but you've got to eat. I don't even know how you were still running after not eating for the past couple days."

"Days," Marsha said, stilling her hand and turning to look very disappointingly at Gaara. The red head felt his stomach churn unexpectedly. Maybe he was hungry after all.

"There's no food," he muttered in automatic explanation, confusing himself further. Marsha crossed her arms.

"No food! You coulda asked Dad to get you some! What were you thinking, boy," she admonished. In truth, he didn't know what he was thinking anymore. His brain was always filled with his school work or a derisive sense of _emptiness_. He shrugged. Marsha gave him a look that said that they were not done with this conversation.

"Well, we can't release you for another few days. After that, you've got to get some prescriptions filled for pain. I suggest that you stay off your chest for the next two weeks at least, and be careful for the next four after that," Dr. Namikaze rambled, "I'll be giving your school a head's up about your absence."

"I have been suspended for fighting for the next ten days."

Dr. Senju halted in surprise before laughing nervously. She said, "That's funny. My grandson got suspended for fighting today too... Naruto Uzumaki. Is he a classmate of yours?"

Gaara said, "It was him."

"Are you sure? _He_ did this to you?"

"No, this happened after school," he said, though he was looking at Marsha and hoping she would pet his head again. He might have felt as though he deserved a reward for telling the truth. It was strange in and of itself, because Gaara really never thought he deserved anything, save at least a minute of peaceful sleep. Becoming comatose because of fighting or weeks without sleep didn't equate to anything.

"After school... Were you jumped," Dr. Senju asked, but Gaara was aware that her concern was more for her grandson's reputation and safety than her patient's. He looked at Marsha, but he could tell she couldn't really come in and save him here.

"Not by Uzumaki."

She breathed a sigh of relief before realizing she shouldn't have. She straightened and eyed him pointedly and asked, "His friends, then? Inuzuka, or Uchiha, maybe?"

"No."

That was all he was going to give her. She washis doctor, but she was _only_ his doctor. It had been more than two years since he had told someone about the goings on at home. He supposed that even though he had told Marsha, still nothing would happen. It had been the same in the past.

Dr. Senju shared a look with the adults before turning back to Gaara. She said, "I've got to leave and check on my other patients. Of course, a nurse will be in to bring you something to eat and check your fluids. Now, policy says we can only have one guardian with patient overnight."

She turned to Marsha and Tyrese now, looking between the two of them expectantly. Marsha patted her father's knee.

"You go, Dad. I'll take care of him."

"But-"

" _Go'on._ You've gotta run the restaurant or Marc'll have everything drowned in free liquor in the next half hour," Marsha teased, but they both knew that that was partially true. Tyrese gave Gaara a worried look one more time before leaving Marsha with some money and leaving with Dr. Senju.

Marsha sat in silence with Gaara for a while. He could tell she was warring with herself. She wanted to ask him more about his father, but she didn't know if it would push him. She didn't know if she really had the right. Gaara thought she didn't either. It was simply motherly instinct. Although it was good to fall under for a fraction, Gaara was sure that the outcome was meaningless.

"How often do you get suspended from school," Marsha asked, by way of conversation. Gaara fought mentally, trying to decide whether to pity her or to force her to silence with his own silent answers.

"I have not been suspended in over a year before this."

"Oh," Marsha said, nodding as if she approved, "How often are you out for injury related things?"

"Every few weeks," Gaara murmured. Marsha sucked her teeth. Gaara turned his head to eye her.

"That man _lucky_ I don't know where he live. Cus' if I did, I'd tear that ass up!"

Marsha stood and began pacing. Gaara watched at her.

"I can't believe this! How do you do something so atrocious to your own _son!?"_

She turned back to Gaara and leaned close to him. He shifted away on the hospital bed. In his mind, he could see flashes of his mother, leaning close, picking him up, telling him she didn't know. She was sorry, so sorry, and he was never going to leave her sight again. He had thought she was being a little silly then, because he had to go to school. He could understand her hysterics throughout, however, given what she had just witnessed.

"I'm going to get you out of this," she said, touching his cheek again. He turned away from her, the same way he had before. Her eyes looked worriedly at him.

"Have you told anyone about this before," she asked quietly. She seemed to think that this was the taboo. Gaara suspected that it was. He had told before, and nothing had been done. No one had saved him.

"Twice."

Marsha gasped sharply, before rubbing her hand through his hair again.

"This time will be different," she said softly. Gaara wanted to believe her.

He really did.


	4. Talker

Marsha picked up his prescriptions without a hit, using her own health insurance. And though the red head was pretty sure that he wasn't under her care, Tsunade had signed the prescriptions over to her. Gaara realized as she got into the car that his way had been paid through the hospital and medication.

"I'll pay you back," he muttered. Marsha made a weird head swaying movement and said, "Don't even worry bout it. I've got good insurance, so it doesn't even matter."

But he couldn't agree with her. Her fingers flexed on the steering wheel, but she didn't move anywhere. She looked at Gaara and said, "I know we didn't talk about this in the hospital... I was avoiding it, actually, but- uh... I was hoping you'd come to my house so that I can take care of you while you heal. You got a right to say no, I just didn't want to drop you off at that house when I know that man is there."

Gaara had only ever been to one sleep over in his life. It had ended in terror. However, before that, he'd always dreamed of going and being apart of one. He had talked to his mother about having a sleepover, and how other kids would bring things like toothbrushes, extra clothes, sleeping bags, and their favorite stuffed animal. Kankuro had torn up his stuffed bear after their mother had gone away. That became out of the question.

"I don't have-"

"I can pick up some clothes and a toothbrush on the way home," she interjected quickly, excitement getting the best of her. Gaara eyed her warily. Maybe she had never had a proper sleepover either. He hoped this one ended better than the first one.

"What about a sleeping bag," he asked, and though he was serious, Marsha let out shocked laughter. She shook her head.

"You don't need a sleeping bag. I've got a spare room," she said. Gaara had to look at Marsha with a bit of respect, even though she had laughed at him. She had three children, and she had a house with an _extra_ room. She had not spoken of a father figure in their lives, meaning she had attained all of her assets on her own.

Gaara nodded, and Marsha muttered a short okay before putting the car in drive.

 _ **+)holy(+**_

"Ma, I'm home," Demetrius called as he closed and locked the door. He turned his head to listen for any sounds that his mother might be in. As he threw his keys into the key bowl by the door, he heard his mother's loud guffaw from the guest room. He paused with his arm mid throw, and turned to to the sound. He crept down the hall suspiciously.

He hadn't known that his mother was dating anyone. He had assumed she'd tell him, as she had promised to do. He crept down the hallway, hoping to catch the two unaware so that he could kick up a fuss and shove the man out of his door.

"...and, a-and he... hahaha... got his ha- head stuck in," his mother tried to explain around her laughter. Demetrius realized in horror that his mother was retelling the tale of when he got his head stuck in the monkey bars. The woman had laughed for a half an hour after assuring that he was alright. She had even taken pictures, which Demetrius had tried to burn at every turn. He jumped into the room as if jolted by the thought. Hopefully, that would stop her from showing the pictures to said man.

In hindsight, he had realized that he hadn't actually known if his mother had brought a man into the house. For all he knew, it could have been one of her girlfriends. Not only that, he had not bothered to question why his mother had the person in the guest room.

When Demetrius stepped into the room, he was not expecting what he saw. His mother sat bedside to a stranger with burning, bloody red hair. His face was buried in his mother's scrapbook. His mother quieted herself before greeting her son.

"Michi! This is Gaara. Gaara, this is my eldest son, Demetrius," she introduced. Gaara picked his eyes up out of the book to look at Demetrius. At first the dark skinned male felt a bit unnerved- Gaara had no pupils. His stare was piercing and unbreakable. However, he saw his mother shift from the corner of his eye, making him snap to attention and eye up the _rest_ of their guest. Upon further inspection, he realized that the red head was really good looking.

His mother seemed to see something change in his eyes as she said, " _NO._ "

Gaara's eyes flicked to Marsha, before flitting back to Demetrius, who licked his lower lip innocently. Gaara glanced back at the book, and felt a bit of amusement creep up inside him as he asked, "How did you get your head _stuck_ in the monkey bars?"

Cold disappointment and anger seeped into the topic of conversation. Demetrius's mother promptly began laughing hysterically. Demetrius shot her a dirty look, which transferred back to Gaara in a heartbeat. The guest did not lose a centimeter of his stoicism. His face was straight, though Demetrius could see a bit of amusement in his eyes. Now that he looked a little closer, he could see that the red head's pupils were extremely small, but there, none-the-less. It seemed to ease a bit of edge off of his assumption of the red head's earlier countenance. His eyes were like a cat's when they dilated- strange to look at but oddly natural.

"So... who are you," Demetrius asked, deciding not to put on his 'tough and ghetto' act. His mother had already seen through him, and if he tried it now, it probably wouldn't have the same affect.

"Michi, this is-"

"I know his name, _Ma!_ I heard you the first time, dang! I just want to know why he's here and who he _is_ ," Demetrius said. Gaara was confused. Marsha had just told her son who he was, yet he still asked this question. Gaara blinked at Marsha, hoping that she realized that she had a mentally defected son.

"Gaara's a student, like you. How old are you, Gaara?"

"Seventeen."

"See, you're close," Marsha beamed, "And he's staying here while he heals up."

Demetrius eyed Gaara. His cheek was covered in stark white gauze, his lip was held together by stitches, and his breathing was shaky. He turned to his mother and opened his mouth, but she beat him to it.

"Well, its time I fixed us all something to eat, huh? Come on, Michi, you're gonna help me," she said, standing up and grabbing his arm. Demetrius protested and looked over his shoulder to watch the guest- Gaara, he should remember- turn his stunning eyes back to the scrap book. His mother closed the door behind them.

"You better leave him alone, Demetrius."

" _Ma!"_

"Don't you 'Ma' me, Demetrius," she said loudly, before lowering her tone to a pinched level, "I won't be here all week. My vacation ends in three days."

"I gotta take care-"

Marsha waved her hand like a conductor who was indicating the end of a chorus of noise. Her hawk-like eyes stared at her son, and she raised an eyebrow and _dared_ him to speak. He wrinkled his nose and rolled his eyes angrily.

"I don't want that boy in my house alone. I know I brought him, but I've only known him for so long. Not only that, but his bad habits ain't gonna heal his ribs," she said, gesticulating sharply with on finger and her chin to get her point across.

"Ribs? I thought his foot was broken or something," Demetrius muttered. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen any cast on the kid. But, he could have pulled and broken a muscle, though Demetrius was sure that something somewhere in there warranted a cast, still.

"I need you to make sure he eats and doesn't do anything strange."

"Strange like what?"

"I don't know, Mich! Do kartwheels, starts snooping around, gets up and walks out," she ranted. Her son grunted and waved at her.

"I get the point, Ma."

"Thank you. I just need you to do this until I get out from work everyday."

"Right, right. Say Ma, about Saturday night-"

"You know that's family dinner night. Don't start with me."

"Come _on!_ I can't do _nothing_ ," he howled angrily, prepared to flounce away.

"You better not walk away from me, Demetrius. I will put you on lock down for the rest of the year."

Angrily, her son froze, his eyes on anything but her.

"Did you not just come home from a friend's house," she asked, and it was rhetorical, because they both knew that school ended at 2:00 and he was just getting home at 6:30.

"Ok. And I have not said anything about it, _even though_ you are supposed to _let me know_ where you're going. So don't give me 'tude cuz I won't let you hang all out with your friends on Saturday, alright? Now go and get your sister. She's at the park with Angelica."

"Yes'm," he said, because that was all he could do without being punished.

 _ **+)holy(+**_

Who're you," the little girl asked meanly.

"Teresa! That's rude," her mother accosted as she came into the room with some sandwiches and chocolate milk.

"Gaara," he replied, still blinking at her evenly. She stared at him and said, "You look funny."

"Teresa!"

"So do you," he said, raising his not eyebrows. She watched and replied huffily, "My momma says that I am beautiful!"

"She's supposed to. She's your mom."

"Gaara," Marsha gave him a scathing look, but he did not quail beneath it. Instead he blinked at her and looked back at her obnoxious child. If his own mother was here, and this was some sort of child's play date, he would have been smacked. She also would have told the other woman that her child was obnoxious. Or pesky. Pesky had been one of her frequently used words, before she had left them.

"Well, do _you_ thinkI'm beautiful," she asked, batting her eyelashes over her strangely colored eyes. Hazel and robin's egg blue looked rather odd together, if Gaara had anything to say about it.

"Hmm," Gaara hummed in thought.

"Don't answer that. Her head'll only get bigger," Marsha said.

"Mommy!"

"Don't worry, baby. I'll love yah no matter how big yo head get," she teased. Teresa smiled back and Gaara noticed a tooth was missing.

"You're pretty like a Carolina Chickodee."

Marsha's head snapped up to stare at him, but he was looking out of her large French windows. Teresa beamed at him, and then her eyebrows furrowed.

"What's a Carolina Chickodee," she asked her mother.

Gaara answered, "Its a bird. You can find it here, but its invasive. Its small and round, and you can fit it in one hand. It makes a sound like chika-chika dee-dee."

"Oh! You sure know a lot of stuff about birds, Gaa-ga," Teresa said.

"Gaara," the red head corrected. Teresa nodded and she passed the plate of sandwiches- just jelly, cut in triangles, _with_ the crust. Gaara picked one half of a sandwich up. Teresa took the other half and took out her school notebook.

"So, what else do you know, Gaa-a?"

Marsha watched from the doorway.

 _ **+)sing(+**_

"Naruto! Konohamaru! Kurama! Nagato! Come down to dinner!"

"Okay, Mom," Naruto heard Konohamaru call. He was just pulling his mind from the daze he had fallen into. Or maybe he had actually fallen asleep. He was doing his catch-up work from the days he had missed. He was going back to school, and thanked the stars for it. It had gotten tedious and boring, even though there wasn't much of it. However, Naruto was what scientists labeled 'fissiaporus.' This was just too mundane. He pulled himself up as he heard the rest of the house pound down the steps.

He should really go. He didn't want to go. Being grounded was like being shunned, in their house. He didn't really get to put his own little quips into the conversation, unless it was about how miserable he was. And then, his mother would glare at him, and his father would shake his head. He hated it when his father shook his head. His stomach growled over his maudlin thoughts. Well, dinner was dinner anyway.

As Naruto trudged sullenly down the steps there was a _ding!_ at the door.

"I'll get it," he called, as he reached the last few steps. He opened the door, and behind it stood his grandmother and grandfather.

"Baa-chan! Ecchi-Jii-San!"

"Yo! Kid," his bulky grandfather swept him up in a hug that nearly crushed his ribs. Naruto laughed and tried to wrap his arms around his grandfather. Tried being the key element.

"Put him down, before you crush him. That's my job," she said, as Naruto was stood upright again. He swallowed as his grandmother took another step towards him.

"What're you doing, getting in trouble at school!?"

And suddenly shame washed over him ten fold.

"Don't, Mom. Naruto's already heard enough about it," his father intercepted as he came out to greet them. Naruto sulkily turned away and went to sit down at the table. He put his elbows on the arm rests, because he wasn't allowed to have them on the table and he wouldn't get away with it now.

"Help set the table," his mother called, and he got up to do it mindlessly. Really, it wasn't as if he wanted to, but it would be much better than feeling angry in the middle of a happy affair. He'd set it the way he liked and then forget all about what was going on in the foyer.

And he did. He just grabbed everything from where it was supposed to be, and put it out. His mother didn't tell him anything about where she thought everything should go. She had a habit of doing that, but he guessed that she knew he was unhappy and was taking his father's advice.

He was glad of it.

He slid back into his seat awkwardly after he was done. Everyone was already seated, save his mother, and they were watching at him sit. He really didn't want to be the center of attention right at the moment. Conversation, however, was something the Uzumaki's could not ever avoid. Immediately after the food was served, a disarray of conversation was spread. Naruto was not apart of it.

He chewed slowly and thoughtfully. There was something he was supposed to be remembering, but he couldn't for the life of him. But it was _so_ important. Like a dream that was telling him something that he _needed_ to let someone else know about. He squinted his eyes at the table.

"The E.R. was hectic this week," Tsunade-baa said.

"When isn't it," his grandfather asked cheekily.

She swatted him.

"Anything new, Granma," Kurama asked, the only one in the family who had an incessant love of everything life-threatening.

"I got a kid in there with a punctured lung and some badly fractured ribs. The damnedest thing," Tsunade-baa said placing her fork down onto her plate and swallowing around a mouthful of food, "it was someone from your school, Naruto."

All of a sudden, the thing Naruto had forgotten was vividly clear in his mind. His stomach made a queasy rumbling noise and his put his hand over his mouth so he didn't lose his dinner. The sound of Gaara screaming began a bouncing ring in his head.

"Naruto," his mother's voice cut across the ringing, and he caught her looking worriedly over at his father.

"He insisted you weren't the one who put him there," Tsunade assured, her eyes both tender and commanding, "Do you know who did it?"

He open his mouth, but all that happened was that his need to vomit grew more intense. His throat made a gross _shulp_ sound and he doubled over. His head hit the table. His mother's too slow arm came around his chest to keep him from landing. She hugged him and rubbed slow circles into his back.

"Naruto," his dad said, "if you know who did this, you need to tell me. I can help him. Start from the beginning."

That's right. He was supposed to tell his cop dad about something someone else's father had done to them. He swallowed around the nausea in his throat once, twice. His mother told one of the other boys to go and get him a glass of water. Likely Konohamaru puttered away. He swallowed again. Lifted his head. Clutched his hands around his stomach. He felt green.

"M-me and Sasuke stayed after school that day, because he knew I didn't want to face trouble when I got home," he said, which wasn't a complete lie, but the other truth didn't sound quite right in this situation. What had he been about to _do_ before-

before someone beat him to it.

"I... guess he was waiting for someone or something," he continued around the nasty feeling twisting his heart, "because when he came out of school, his... his dad came up and-"

Naruto clenched the edge of his seat, feeling sick again.

"Oh shit," Tsunade-baa-chan breathed. His mother was pushed a glass of water under his nose. He was unsure if he could keep it down, but he forced himself to drink every last drop. It made swallowing easier. He pressed his lips together.

"H-h-he yelled at him for getting into a fight at school... He said that's why his mother didn't love him," Naruto realized his voice was shaking, and maybe he was crying, but his eyes were too tightly closed to know for sure, "If I knew-... If I knew his dad was like that, I wouldn't have-"

His mother yanked him up from his seat and pried the glass from his hand. He was led out and up to the second floor study, where she sat with him on the big sofa.

"That wasn't your fault, honey," his mom said into his hair, planting kisses on his head.

"It was," the tears came in earnest now, "B-because he ruined the lunch you gave me, so without thinking I chased after and fought with him. If I _knew-_ "

"That doesn't mean you wanted him to be hurt like that," Kushina said, "Just because that boy's father is a horrible person it doesn't mean you are."

"But I... I..."

"Your father is going to help him, Naruto. Whoever he had before... he's got you now," Kushina said.

"Me," Naruto swallowed his tears and looked down at her questioningly. She smiled and replied, "Yes you. You're going to help him too, aren't you?"

Naruto looked at his hands, thinking of Gaara. Why was it only now that he noticed the amount of time the young man had been absent from school, only to return bruised and bandaged? Why now did he notice that dead, lonely look in his eyes? Gaara was hard to approach, sure, but that didn't mean he didn't want to be, right?

"Yeah. I am."


	5. Changer

The universe we're in uses some Narutoverse inclusions, and some real world inclusions. If we say that everyone has ancestral connections to the Narutoverse, then they all have Asian last names. That good?

The place we're in now is a city in a country comprised mostly of people who'd typically be of African American descent (who would be from the Land of Thunder/Lightning) and asian people. We'll do some background history in this chapter.

Also be ready for some more abuse.

 _ **Enjoy.**_

* * *

Marsha Tamiya, Demetrius Tamiya, Theresa Tamiya, and Mauricio Tamiya were all people of who's company Gaara could absolutely say he enjoyed. Gaara treasured this, as he didn't have many people whom he could call his friends.

That was not why he was sneaking out.

His two weeks were up, and if he were to be completely honest, it had been the best suspension he'd ever had. But he _had_ to go back home. Marsha had bought him new clothes, but after the first week, Gaara felt he had been imposing. He was quite sure he'd outworn his welcome. He was very grateful, but he didn't want to stay where he was not wanted.

And who would want to spend any amount of elongated time with him? He didn't know how to hold conversations for very long, but not for lack of trying, he looked odd, and he thought Marsha was getting tired of his insomniac tendencies. He wandered around in the middle of the night without homework or books to read, and because he surely couldn't turn on the television while everyone was sleeping.

No, he had to get to his home and get a change of clothes, and prepare for school the next day.

The journey back to his father's house was long and as silent as it could be. New Emberton wasn't as boisterous in the parts that he and Marsha lived in. His ride on the bus to school in the morning was probably the most he'd get by way of excitement, unless he decided he ever wanted to _visit_ the places it passed. Between his house and the school he went to, aptly names Konohagakuen after their district, the town went from viciously suburban, to urban, to some subclass that Gaara lived in, where all of his neighbors were rich and disrespectful.

It was no wonder he'd never made friends there, because his mother had taught him better, and as much as he _hated_ her for leaving him alone, he hated not following her teachings more. He'd never gone to any of those in between places either, because he hadn't the money or the interest in things like that. There were a few small clustering streets called yellow light districts that kids his age (and some college kids) spent their time and effort blowing their money. Then there were places like Main Avenue, which probably stretched as far as the distance from Gaara's house to his school, filled with theaters, restaurants, trinket shops, and places adults and teens and tourists could go to indulge themselves.

New Emberton was probably the biggest city on the continent of Rengo-gun no Toshi,* or Domei* for short, spanning over eight hundred square miles. Although some of that land was delegated to their farming factions and districts, it was still a pretty sizable chunk of the east. Knowing that, Gaara was happy that it only took him about thirty minutes to get to school on the bus. Konoha was a massive district, and Gaara would be unwise to forget that.

He didn't forget when, after three hours of walking, hiking, and trudging, he reached his father's house. He hadn't realized Marsha had lived so far from him- probably a good six miles. He appreciated the length of his legs, and how quickly he was prone to walking when he was out after dark. He also appreciated his innate sense of direction, because if he didn't have it he wasn't sure he'd have been stuck on the other side of Konoha with no help.

He didn't bother to go through the front door when he noticed his father's car parked just outside his door. As nimbly as he could with a back pack full of books and clothes, Gaara climbed onto the hood of the car, and then the roof of it. From there, he hopped onto the roof of the garage, as soundlessly as he could, and slid onto the roof just below his room window. He kept the window unlocked for just such occasions.

He pulled up and realized the rat bastard had locked it in spite of him. He growled and pulled up on the hinges. They squeaked and strained, but Gaara had practically bruised his fingers and torn more than one nail trying to get in. With a frustrated sigh, he thought on it for a moment before reaching into his pack and pulling out as many clothes as he could wrap around his fist. He pulled them tightly and wrapped a rubber band around his wrist.

He gauged how heavy his swinging arm was before he took a swing at the window. He'd only get one shot, and if he woke anyone inside, his ribs would not be the only thing that would need more healing. He swing a hard arm at the window with all the strength and rage he could push into his arm without provocation. The window splintered finely, turning from clear to frosted in a second. Fortunately, since he'd decided to put a thin tinted film on his window for decoration, the glass didn't clatter loudly onto the floor.

At least one of Temari's stupid ideas had benefit him in some way. He pushed the corner of the window in carefully using one of his shirts, and it slid away. He pushed until more than half the window was gone, and then turned it so that he could pull the glass and debris out and leave it on the roof. He wasn't going to throw it out in his own room if that man was going to be snooping around regardless.

The first thing he did was unpack his bag and repack it. Then he grabbed a change of clothes from the freshly washed- probably Temari's doing- stack in his draw. He opened his door and slowly opened it- the sliding hinges and handle were well oiled by him, but he just didn't trust some things- and slipped through the door when it was just open enough. He looked down the hall and carefully listened for any sounds of movement from his father's room.

When he didn't hear anything, he went into the bathroom. Without turning on the lights, he expertly stripped and filled the oversized basin of the sink with boiling water. He gave himself the equivalent of a very thorough sponge bath. He couldn't risk turning on the shower. Though it didn't make much more noise than the sink, which was practically soundless, he had enough practice to know by that point. It was too much of a risk. His father's hearing was bat like in his sleep.

Gaara eyed the healing wound on his chest- the place where that blonde doctor had to operate on him. It was almost healed completely. The edges of it were already on their way to scarring and shrinking. He wasn't sure where he got this almost superhuman power of healing, but he wasn't complaining about it. It'd kept him from death on more than one number of occasions.

He briefly touched the stitches with his sprained wrist and pulled his clothes back on. He'd been careful of that wrist, though he hadn't told Marsha. She'd want to get a wrap for it, and he felt confined enough as it was. The taken off the chest brace that she'd given him- it was more like a paintball vest than anything else. He guess he could put it back on. He would need it more in his sleep than anything else. He wasn't sure it would fit under his school uniform without some suspicion arising. Deciding on it, he slid the thing over his shoulders and buckled the straps over his sides.

He pulled his nightclothes over himself, idly wondering why he had those kinds of things when he didn't even sleep regularly. He drained the sink and grabbed his toothbrush and some toothpaste, and set to work. His hair was still dripping into his face from his absolute need to wash it. He watched himself in the mirror, his visage foam mouthed, wide eyed, and ghostly pale.

He wished he looked more like his mother.

When he was done, he stepped out of the bathroom, back towards his room.

The blow to his shoulder was swift and unexpected and blindingly painful. He had no way to block it. He ended up staggering hard and landing on his knees before he could think to duck and roll away. Something smashed into the wall where he had been and a chip of plaster or wood or something painful hit his already bruising arm.

"What the fuck are you doing in my house, you little shit," his father asked, and Gaara detected no hint of inebriation. Which meant that whatever it was he was being attacked for had been stewing for two weeks. Gaara idly remembered fighting his father on school grounds- how had no one caught sight of that?- before a foot hit him in the stomach. He barrels down the stairs, landing on the shoulder that his father hit with- was that a pipe?

He only lets out the short form of a groan before the lights in the upstairs hallway click on. His sister begins screaming at their father. He wonders why she is even here? Both she and Kankuro have somewhere else they live, and far be it from Gaara to ask them to come back here. He didn't need them. They made everything worse.

"I am disciplining my child," his father growls from a few steps above where Gaara is pulling himself up. He's a little lucky that stairs have a small landing before the bottom, instead of a straight drop. The impact on his shoulder would have been much worse.

"So you get into a fight, and then don't think to show your face for two weeks. Then you think you can come back into _my_ house, break _my_ window, and get away with all of that? After you raised your fist against me? No, no, no. I'm going to remind you who the adult in this house is," he says, and kicks at Gaara's chest, but it ends up impacting on his sprained wrist, which breaks instantly as the red head rolls away with the force of the blow. He screeches around his teeth and gets to his feet as quickly as he can, because being on the floor means he'll die.

He wonders why his father was becoming so aggressive lately. He'd never been hurt so badly in the past ten years of his life as he was this month. Although, he shouldn't say that without taking into account the verbal beatings he'd gotten. Maybe it was because his time in the house was running out. God, Gaara had been counting down every single day since the moment he'd turned eighteen.

"Stop it," his sister's voice is scrambling down from the stairs, tense with fear and frustration. His father whips around to her.

"Excuse me," he says, deadly quiet, "This is my house, not yours. Do you want to take his place?"

Gaara sees Temari shudder, and though he couldn't give any less fucks about her, he bends and tackles his father into the wall. The man makes a surprised sound as Gaara punches him in the side, then the stomach. Side, stomach, side, stomachesidestomach –

A stony elbow lands between his shoulder blades, and even with the brace on, the pain rockets through his ribcage and almost sends him sprawling into the floor. There's another slam. Another one. Gaara can hardly breath through the pain, and then his father pushes him away, and he's practically blind from lack of oxygen. His father punches him in the face, and he feels a gash grip across his cheek, close to his lip.

He idly wonders if his father is still wearing his wedding ring before his hits the floor. Why would he, if she _left_ him. Left them all. He's definitely not breathing anymore. A sharp kick to his temple makes the world go black.

"Stop," Temari screams finally when she sees Gaara stop moving, "Stop it!"

Her father whirls on her again, but this time she feels ready. As ready as she can be against his wrath. He asks again, "Do you.. want to... take his place?"

She doesn't. God she doesn't – no one would, but –

"You wouldn't," she said moving around him slowly to Gaara's body, "You wouldn't dare put your hands on me."

"Do you really want to take that bet," he asks, inching forward, the bat he'd dropped rolling dangerously at his feet. Temari looks steadily into his eyes, because if she looks at that bat, she's as good as Gaara.

"Yes. I will," she replies lightly, "Because unlike Gaara, I don't have a reputation for fighting. And when they see me hurt, they'll come asking questions. They'll come asking _you_ questions about it, and then they'll take one look at Gaara and they'll know. They'll know he was _never_ lying like we said."

Her father's face goes blank with rage, but she knows he won't attack her. She moves faster to Gaara's side, but not fast enough for her to be walking at an even pace.

"After all these years, you've decided to let your conscience get the best of you, little girl," he says, calling her the epithet he used to use when he thought she was being ridiculous. Temari sneers at him, her own temper flaring.

"He's almost out of school, he's almost done," she said, "but he won't make it if you kill him."

"If I recall, you and your brother both didn't give a damn whether he lived or not," her father sneers right back, and Temari doesn't have the audacity to flinch, not at that moment. He's not wrong.

"Back then I didn't think about the law."

"And now you do," he laughed.

"Kill him and I won't hesitate to tell everyone the truth about you," she replied. Her father's face went blank again, something murderous in his eyes, shifting as though sentient. His face twists in amusement.

"And what will that say about you," he asked idly, and bent down to pick up the metal bat. Temari did flinch then in Gaara's direction. She couldn't protect them both, but dammit if she didn't try. Her father slides past both of them and up the stairs. Midway, he pauses.

"Don't tell me how to raise my son again, Temari," he said, his voice dark. She looks back at him from where she kneels beside Gaara.

"He's not your son," she replied defiantly.

 _ **~{holy}~**_

The first thing Gaara noticed when he awoke was the cast he's wearing on his arm, which itched. He realized that Baki must have gotten to him sometime in the night, which makes him relieved and achingly lonely at the same time. Simultaneously, he notices the pain lancing across his face, specifically his right temple. He'd been lying on it, and when he shifted, he came to his second realization with a high pitched screech that he's pretty sure he's never made before in his entire life. He cut the sound off, only to be taken hold of by breathless pain. He can't even scream.

His back is in pain somewhere between an acute burning and a dull throbbing. It wasn't his whole back, but his shoulder blades- which made his shoulders suffer- which sent an angry pain up his broken arm. Gaara had been in pain before, but nothing like the hard, _heavy_ feeling burning all along his back and shoulders. He lifted himself up and felt something shift a long his back. He paused.

That feeling was entirely _too_ heavy. As though he had something sitting on his back. He lie back down and reached his unbroken hand back to feel –

 _feathers?_ He breathing grew heavy and ragged from panic and pain. He felt all along this feather and down, down, down, because whatever it was he had on his back, it was long and... tender? This thing was attached to him? Apart of him- they were... Somewhere in his mind, Gaara had been hoping that some _thing_ had just landed on him and hit him and broken a few of his bones.

As quickly as he could, Gaara scrambled out of his bed, feeling along his back. God it felt so weird. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he had –

' _Wings_ ,' his mind supplied as he glanced at himself in his full length mirror. He touched them again- _tender_ , very tender- and cried out in surprise much more than pain. Again, it sounded like a squawking screech that was in no way how high his voice was. Gaara scrambled away and into the bathroom, his brain telling him he was a _bird._ He's already enough of a _freak_ and he'd turned into a goddamn pheasant and he had a giant yellow beak –

Gaara's too pale reflection stared back at him, beak less, wide eyed and sleep deprived. Behind him, wings of sandstone brown with red tipped feathers flutter in his aggravation. Gaara blinks at them, _feels_ them, and shifts his wings open... then closed. Then left wing open, then right wing. Closed. He winces as opening the right wing pulls on the muscles of his broken arm.

His wings feel heavy, like he's got an a child swinging off his back, except he realized his body is much lighter than said wings in comparison. _Much_ lighter, like he hasn't eaten in a few weeks and he's gotten lightheaded, but in all of his body. More than being freaked out, he wants to explore himself, because its too late to freak out about having wings. That time is up. He has to figure out what else about him has changed. He has to figure out how to change back.

"My name is Sabaku no Gaara and I'm eighteen years old," he says to the mirror, and is relieved when his voice sounds exactly as it should. No squawking qualities. He then turns around and looks at his back in the mirror. He extends his wings again, just slightly, and looks at his back where they connect. The skin there is slightly red, as though it hasn't fully healed yet, but it extends up and out. Gaara feels the point where the skin grows rougher and then begins sprouting feathers.

He shivers and confirms that they're definitely a part of him. The rough skin is almost translucent, and Gaara can see where his bird bones joint. _Fuck_ ,that's so weird to him. He's part _bird,_ dammit. The novelty isn't going to run out any time soon.

A beam of sunlight floods through the bathroom window and bounces off the mirror in a golden streak. Gaara glances at the clock above the door- only five thirty, thank his insomnia- and decides before he does anything like get dressed for school, he's going to give himself a once over. He strips and stand before the mirror stark naked. There's nothing wrong that he can assess, besides his normal cuts, bruises, and abrasions- no talons, no other rough patches of skin. His legs and arms bend the way they're supposed to, except the broken one, of course. He lifts his arms- no feathers for armpit hair. Spreads his legs...

With little embarrassment he bends over the bathtub and touches his butt. Then his butt hole. Nothing _feels_ different, but he wouldn't know since he's not down there often. He touches his penis too. Stroke it to hardness because it might affect him sexually, but again, nothing feels different. He lets it soften again by poking his broken arm

So if Gaara had to do a basic assessment, he'd just grown a pair wings on his back. Completely and totally normal.

 _How the fuck was he supposed to go to school?_

 _ **~{sing}~**_

"Naruto, do you know that woman," Tsunade-baa-chan asks him and points to a dark skinned woman across the lot. She's pacing back and forth in front of her (expensive) car, wringing her hands much like Naruto himself is doing, and staring at the front gates.

There are only five minutes left until class, and Naruto is going to be late. He doesn't care. Gaara hasn't shown up for school yet.

"No," he replied, "I've never seen her before. Why?"

"Because she was the one who brought Sabaku no Gaara to the hospital and made sure he came for his follow-ups. Ms. Tamiya!"

The woman looked up, confused at first and upon realizing she knows Tsunade, scurried over. Ms. Tamiya wore pleading, worried look on her face. She was tall, though not taller than Naruto, and had smooth, pretty brown skin. Her eyes are a frightened mix of hazel and chocolate brown.

"Senju-sensei," she said breathlessly, "Have you seen him?"

"No, I was hoping he'd be with you," Tsunade-baa replied, "We were going to talk to him about his home life..."

"About his... Do you know something," Ms. Tamiya asked her eyes flitting to Naruto's dad, decked out in his detective uniform.

"Hello, Ms. Tamiya, was it?" his dad asked, looking firm and caring, "My name is Minato Uzumaki and I'm a detective. This is my son, Naruto. He and Sabaku no Gaara got into a fight couple of weeks ago."

Ms. Tamiya looked skeptically between them, though her eyes only flashed to Naruto for a moment before she said, "He told me that it wasn't his classmates that hurt him like that."

"And he was not wrong. My son witnessed an incident between Sabaku and his father after school. I just wanted to ask you a few questions," Dad said. Ms. Tamiya eyed Naruto but nodded slowly, if reluctantly.

"Do you know what happened after Gaara was released from school after that Friday," Dad asked.

"No, only what you've told me," Ms. Tamiya replied.

"How did Sabaku end up in your care?"

Here, she hesitated, looking somewhere between worried and guilty. She said, "My father employed him at the bar- its really more of a diner –... he saw that Gaara needed somewhere he could go, and when we found out he could sing, well –..."

"Slow down. Its alright. Start from when you met Gaara until the last moment you saw him," Dad said, putting his hands out in a gesture of soothing that Naruto had seen himself on occasion.

"Gaara came running in one night. I thought he was just a hood, playing around in the streets. He was cut up and bruised. My father saw something else – more than I did anyway. He let him stay and sweep up, but when he found out that Gaara could sing –... Well when Pap finds a jewel of talent, he keeps it. Anyway, we only saw him once more before he came into the shop that Friday. He came sprinting in, blue in the face, wheezing like he was choking on something –... I thought he was... going to... We took him to the hospital, first thing, found out he had broken ribs and a punctured lung. How he made it out of that after sprinting all the way there from here, after _day_ _s_ of not eating," Ms. Tamiya explained, looking more distressed as she went on. Her words seemed to make her realize the gravity of what she said.

"He disappeared last night. He has insomnia, I noticed, but I didn't think he'd wander off. He didn't do it the whole time he was with me –... I've been waiting here since I dropped my kids off. I'm going to be late for work but," she didn't check her watch as she said this meaning she was probably already late, "I need to know that he's okay. I... He told me his father did this to him."

Minato's eyes both sharpened and softened at her admission. He patted Naruto's shoulder and said, "Why don't you head to class? I'll be waiting for you after school, so come straight out. If you find Sabaku, please don't hesitate to let me know. And bring him with you if you can."

Naruto thought that it was easier said than done.

* * *

 _Rengo-gun no Toshi- means allied lands, which is basically my bent equivalent of the USA and Rai no Kuni. New Emberton would be something like a mash up of New Orleans and Konoha (as you may have guessed), with some modern Japanese concepts thrown in, and with a little less accented speech or Ebonics from the people._

 _Domei means alliance, and would be the equivalent of US for the shortened version of the United States._


End file.
